She rolls her eyes. “Whatever, Sebastian.”
Her nose is red from the cold and there’s no doubt she’s freezing her ass off, but I walk off anyway. I cut across campus and back over to the tower. Emory is just inside the entrance.
“Shit, did anyone see you come down here?” he asks, looking over my shoulder. It’s cold as a snowman’s dick, so I push past him and jog down the staircase to the Devils lair.
“Nah, I doubled back. But I think the Admin is still in the gym trying to figure out what the fuck just happened.” I don’t mention Sydney, because what is there to say? I enter the room and see that other guys are already down here in the process of changing. None of them went all out with the body paint like I did.
Jesus. Altercations with Sydney aside, what a fucking rush.
Part of it was that I’d finally—fucking finally—gotten the all-clear from my doctor earlier that day. No more worries about being careful all the time. No having to coddle myself. No sitting on the sidelines anymore, restless and agitated.
But a bigger part was just pulling something off with my boys. With my girls. It’s been too long.
“Good job, man,” Carlton says, changing shirts. He’d been one of the other masked devils and the hair around his temples is still damp with sweat. “I hope someone gets a video of the Headmaster’s expression when he realizes his halftime show was hijacked.”
Emory walks into the lair and shuts the door behind him. He approaches me, fist out. I bump mine against his and he grins. “Dude, you should’ve been the mascot all year. You killed it!”
I scoff. “That’s a pussy position. I’d rather be on the field than on the sidelines.”
“How do you think Sugar took being the winner?” Tyson asks. “She looked a little stunned.”
“Oh, she’s going to be pissed. She’s probably already trying to return it,” I reply. “Too bad that money came out of our funds and not the school’s. There’s no one to return it to.”
“Have you said anything to her about it?” Reyn asks, buttoning his shirt. “You know, the Devils.”
I give him a stony look. “I’m not a squealer. You know that.”
“What if she recognized you?” Emory asks, eyebrow arched. “You were right in front of her—half naked. You think she didn’t recognize your body? She would, right?”
It’s a loaded question, and I don’t know why Em doesn’t just come out and ask if Sugar and I have had sex yet. He probably doesn’t want to be on the other side of my temper if it doesn’t land right.
“If she recognized me, I’ll deal with it.”
The others leave first and I change quickly, wanting to go up and find her. To be honest, I wasn’t even expecting her to come to the game. If that happened, we wouldn’t have given away the big prize at all. Everyone agreed to give it to Sugar. None of the other assholes around here deserve or need it. I know the way she’d see it, though—as charity.
My phone buzzes and I pick it up.
Sugar: Leaving the gym. Where are you?
I type out my response: Wait there. I’ll be there in a minute.
Pulling on my jacket, I head up the stairs, locking the door behind me. I shove the key in my pocket and step outside the tower. Walking fast, I turn around the curve of the building toward the gym, but stop when I see a shadowy figure a few feet away, with their arms crossed over their chest.
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, clutching my hand over my heart.
Sugar steps into the light, revealing her narrowed eyes and taut jaw. “I know you’re the one who gave me that money.”
I observe her for a moment, the camera hanging around her neck. She doesn’t seem to go anywhere without it nowadays. She’s also looking at me like she’s figured everything out. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Cut the shit, Wilcox.” Ouch. Wilcox. “That was you, in the Devil mask. You’re the one who gave me that shirt.”
“Babe,” I say, following a deep exhale, “Johnny Weider is the mascot. He’s out there right now.”
She doesn’t look even remotely convinced. “One? Don’t ever call me ‘babe’. Two, I’ve seen your abs, and now I’ve seen Johnny Weider’s. Not even in the same fucking ballpark. That was secret society stuff. You’re one of them, aren’t you?”
A few students walk toward us and I wait for them to pass. I want to tell her. For the first time in my life, I want to tell someone everything. I can’t, though. I took an oath.
But earning Sugar’s trust is important.
With my hands in my pockets, I rock back on my heels. “What if I was? Would it matter?”
Her face smooths out from the scowl, even if she still looks frustrated. “I’d be mad that you rigged that contest to give it to me.”
“But not about me being in the group?”
“I don’t care about some dumb rich kid club,” she insists, waving the envelope around. “That’s not the point. We’ve been over this, Bass. The point is that you shouldn’t use your money—or power—to give me things.”
I take a step closer. “I hate to tell you, Sugar, but that’s the point of power. You wield it however you want. But let me make one thing clear. If I was a Devil, I wouldn’t mark you with a t-shirt. I’d want to mark you for real, somewhere that everyone could see.” I reach out and run my thumb along her jaw, eying the perfect spot. “I’d want everyone to know you were mine.”
Her eyes dart to my mouth, then back up. Her throat bobs with a swallow. “People know we’re dating. It’s not a secret.”
“Being Devil-marked is different.”
“How?”
Fuck, but it’s so hard to explain. To someone on the outside, the tradition must seem dumb as hell, but to us, it’s a big deal. Tyson can never mark his girl. Not until he comes clean about everything, and he probably never will. It’s not just about giving someone a hickey. It’s about the way Reyn and Vandy, or Emory and Aubrey, are completely connected. It’s about letting someone in—all the way in—because the risk is too big to waste on some minor fling. The Devils are more than some silly high school secret society. For most of us, we’re more family than our own flesh and blood.
“Do you really want to know?” I ask, weirdly nervous about her answer.
“Will it hurt?”
“Not if I’m doing it right.”
I expect her to tell me to fuck off, presumably after she rips up the check, but she doesn’t. She just looks up at me with those big hazel eyes and says, “If you were a Devil, and if I’m really your girl, it only seems right for you to treat me like it.”
Just hearing her say it sends a rush of heat through my body. I slide my fingers between hers and look both ways to make sure we’re alone. Part of being a Devil is being sneaky. Sure, the whole world can see the mark, but they don’t need to know where and when I’m giving it to her.
I open the tower door and pull her inside, shutting it quickly behind me. It’s cold and I keep her close as we walk up the stairs, as much for warmth as just to be near her. I turn on the flashlight on my phone, showing the way up the old stone stairs.